Fighting Land: Costa Luna
by godfreyraphael
Summary: The Ultranationalists, after being thwarted by the PPP two times already, decides to strike where it hurts the most: Costa Luna. For Rosie, the fight for her country will now become all too real.
1. Criminals

**Fighting Land: Costa Luna  
****Chapter One: Criminals**

_Isla de los Penitentes Royal Penitentiary  
__Isla de los Penitentes, Santa Corazon, Costa Luna  
__18 September 2012  
1620 Costa Luna time_

Isla de los Penitentes was a small, unimportant rock-and-coral island just three miles away from the land surrounding Santa Corazon Bay. When it was first sighted by Spanish explorers in the 1560s, they didn't even bother claiming it for Spain before heading for the more promising interior of Costa Luna Island. It didn't even have a name until the late 19th century, when Queen Anna ordered a catalog of all the territories of the Kingdom of Costa Luna. Later on, her successor, King Juan X, ordered the construction of a new prison on the island to house the kingdom's growing number of criminals and delinquents. The island, now named Isla de los Penitentes, became a place for criminals to contemplate and repent for their sins; that is, become penitent.

Isla de los Penitentes Royal Penitentiary was modeled after infamous Alcatraz in the United States, and had housed its fair share of famous—and infamous—inmates like Juarez Perez Xicarramba, the so-called "Costa Lunan Jack the Ripper," who mutilated seven prostitutes in Santa Corazon before being captured by the police; the gangster Alberto Alcaraz Soreza, who smuggled alcohol-laced beverages into Prohibitionist America before being injured and captured after a shootout with rival gangs; and Communist spies Tomas and Ariana Testigo, who were imprisoned on the island before being hanged for treason.

More recent inmates included Martin Robles Ursino, whose method of murdering his sixteen victims was so much like the infamous Zodiac killer that many people suspected that he _was _the Zodiac killer; Jacinto Selucio de Dios, the infamous Rojas Boulevard Sniper that killed four people including a cop during his rampage of terror; and the four leaders of the Youth Revolutionaries.

There was also one inmate of the penitentiary that deserved a special mention. The atrocities he committed throughout his reign of terror made the ethnic killings in the former Yugoslavia look like ordinary killings. He was responsible for the deaths of at least 25,000 ethnic Costa Lunans in his native Costa Estrella. He approved of the executions of prisoners-of-war taken during the Costa Luna-Costa Estrella War of 1984, in direct violation of numerous international laws and treaties, chief among them the Geneva Convention. He was also the architect of the devastating Costa Luna Civil War, which claimed at least 10,000 lives on both sides of the conflict. Because of the magnitude of his crimes, he was sentenced to 35,000 years behind bars by the Royal Supreme Court; one year for every life lost by his hand.

Inside the penitentiary, he was just Prisoner 116727. In his file at the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology, he was listed as Juan Marcos Domingo Estrada y Dragovich. But to the rest of the world, he was General Magnus Kane.

Kane's cell was at the far end of the solitary confinement row. Only a single guard was assigned to him, and he was rarely allowed out of his cell, if at all. In the rare instances that he was allowed out, his guard was on him at all times, and he was not allowed to talk with any of the other inmates. He _was _allowed visitors, but the only ones that visited him were his mother, Elena Dragovich de Estrada, and his daughter, Juana Maria Cristina Estrada.

It was just another day at Isla de los Penitentes. Kane woke up at exactly nine in the morning, as he had been doing his whole adult life. He did some stretching exercises, and then he took the tray of food sitting on his cell door. It consisted of a single chicken drumstick, a cup of rice, and a glass of what tasted like a mix of water and cola. _At least the food is getting better_, he thought as he ate his food with his hands, preferring them over the utensils provided.

When he was finished eating, he placed the tray back on its place on the door, where the guard took it away through a cat flap. As Kane sat back down on his bed, he heard a sharp rapping on his door.

"Kane!" the guard shouted. "You have visitors."

"_Buenos dias _to you, too, Placido," he replied.

The guard opened the door, and Kane held out his arms obediently while the guard cuffed him. The two of them walked out to the visitor's area albeit slowly, as the cuffs on his ankles didn't allow a wide stride, very helpful for preventing criminals from escaping.

"I hope it is _Mama_ coming to check up on me again," said Kane as they walked. "I really miss her homemade _tinola_, _menudo_, and _caldereta_! And I hope she brought my little Cristina with her. I want to see how she's grown up after all those years away from her. I wonder if she will still recognize me!"

Kane's appearance today was very far from the days that he reigned supreme over Costa Luna. His hair, which he used to keep in a short crew cut, was now reaching down to the base of his neck; and he now had a full, flowing beard. His infamous olive-drab marshal's uniform with black fur cape had been replaced by the prisoner's orange jumpsuit, and his riding boots were now a pair of state-provided, ill-fitting rubber shoes.

Placido, the guard, had Kane sit down on his regular seat at the far corner of the visitor's area and chained him to the chair just in case he tried to escape. But Kane knew that even if he managed to break free of his cuffs, five more prison guards were waiting for him with tasers, batons, and handguns. He waited for his visitor quietly, and when a man in a light gray suit sat down in front of him, he had to hide his surprise in an impatient yet pleasantly surprised grin. "Took you long enough to come to my aid, _mi amigo_," he said.

"I was busy," the man replied. "Another one of our mutual friend's projects has failed."

"I knew it. That _perro_ Kodudov couldn't have lasted long with the Russians surrounding him on all sides. Let me guess: he was blown up along with his mansion, just like his mentor Dudayev."

"Actually, he was shot dead by Russian Spetsnaz soldiers that raided his mansion while their regular military confused the Transcaucasian military by attacking them from multiple fronts."

"Uncharacteristically smart of the Russians," muttered Kane. "But then they had the Spetsnaz at their side. Those 'special forces soldiers' are like the scalpels to the Russian Army's bludgeons. So, Lavrenty, what brings you to Isla de los Penitentes?"

"It's Andrew Mellow now, Juan," replied Lavrenty Konstantinovich Timofeyenko. "And don't say my real name out loud, Juan. You could attract unnecessary attention."

"All right! _Jesus, Maria, e Jose_! You're just like my mother whenever I ask about my grandfather!" Kane conceded. "Anyway, what brings you to Isla de los Penitentes, _Andrew_?"

"With the failure of his first two plans, our mutual friend has set his eyes upon a new prize: Costa Luna. Do you, by any chance, remember a certain fellow named Santiago San Antonio?"

"Of course I do! Tiago was one of my most loyal followers! After those _bastardos y demonios y putas_ in the Princess Protection Program captured me in that filthy _escuela_ in Louisiana, Tiago escaped to the countryside and made sure that the Socialist Revolution lived on, even without my guiding hand and presence. Why? What does he have to do in this plot of our mutual friend?"

"You really must try to keep up with the times, Juan," said Timofeyenko/Mellow. "Our mutual friend thinks that it is time for another revolution in Costa Luna. Andres Valderama can barely keep his coalition government together, and with parliamentary elections coming, the Costa Lunan people are sorely divided between the liberal Socialist Alvarado Lobo and the conservative Republican Nicolas Trotshev. You will once again be at the forefront of this revolution, the _numero uno_, and San Antonio will be your right-hand man once he gets you out of here."

"And how is he supposed to do that? Last time I heard, Santiago didn't have enough explosives to break a twig."

"Our mutual friend will deliver what Santiago needs. As much as he needs, and then some," Timofeyenko assured Kane.

"He should. I don't want a repeat of _Dos Mil Nueve_."

"I apologize for that, my friend. The United Nations had enforced a blockade on Russian ships when our mutual friend funded their Georgian adventure."

Kane leaned closer to Timofeyenko. "Why do you want to do this, my friend?" he asked.

"Oh, you know why I'm asking you to do this, old friend," Lavrenty replied, but Kane could sense the uneasiness in him. "We are spreading the seeds of socialism to newer, more fertile lands."

"No, Andrew, I think that that's just the surface of why you want me to spark a revolt," Kane said. "You see, Andrew, Russia invaded Georgia at just about the same time that I revolted against Costa Luna. If things had gone the way it should have, I believe that my revolution would have become the front-page news of every newspaper in the world, while the Russian invasion would have just been page-bottom filler. But, as you know, everything went wrong almost immediately. The Crown Princess escaped, I spent most of my energies searching for her and luring her out of her hiding spot and away from her PPP protectors, only to fall for a cleverly constructed trap engineered by a sixteen-year-old girl! Bah! I should have listened to my mother's advice when I was younger." He then muttered something in Spanish.

"What was that again?" Lavrenty/Andrew asked Kane.

"My _mama _had been telling me these stories about how a meddlesome family of Americans always caused a lot of trouble for my family, dating back to my Russian _abuelo_. I remember the words that my mother drilled into my head after all of these stories: 'Never trust a Mason.'"


	2. Never Trust a Mason

**Chapter Two: Never Trust a Mason**

"'Never trust a Mason'?" Timofeyenko asked Kane. "Why so?"

"Why ask me?" the former general asked. "You seem to already know why."

"Just wanted to hear it straight from the source," Timofeyenko shrugged. But in fact, he did already know everything about Kane's family and its history. Before he had recruited the Costa Estrellan for his employer's purposes, he had done a lot of research on the man. He knew that Kane had Russian blood because his mother Elena Estrada used to be Yelena Nikitovna Dragovich, the spoiled daughter of a Soviet general, before she legally changed it by moving to Costa Luna and marrying a rich plantation owner named Juan Rodrigo Estrada y Buenaventura. Kane's "Russian grandfather", and Elena Estrada's father, was Major General Nikita Zoranovich Dragovich, son of a Yugoslavian Communist who moved to the Soviet Union before he was born, and a decorated veteran of the Great Patriotic War. Even though Dragovich had a bit of a dubious record during the war—he commanded three penal battalions in three years and lost three-fourths of the men he commanded—he was trustworthy enough for Stalin to name him commander of the newly formed 999th Special Warfare Division of the Red Army, which did special operations even the vaunted and feared Spetsnaz wouldn't dare touch.

Dragovich's specialties were espionage and chemical warfare. Using a deadly nerve gas called Nova-Six, which was developed by German scientist Friedrich Steiner, who defected to the Soviets after World War Two, Dragovich was about to initiate an attack that would severely cripple the United States with simultaneous gas attacks on all fifty state capitals when he disappeared from the surface of the Earth. Word in the intelligence community was that he was killed when the Americans supposedly attacked the secret submarine base that Dragovich had built off of the coast of Cuba. The Americans denied ever attacking any submarine base, and the Soviets denied even building a submarine base off the coast of Cuba. In any case, the Soviets declared Dragovich a rogue general and Brezhnev himself thought that his death was good riddance because Dragovich wasn't playing with a full deck, so to speak, so Dragovich's family had no choice but to get as far away from Communist or Socialist soil as possible.

Throughout his research on Kane, Timofeyenko would always stumble upon one particular name: Captain Alex Mason. In every file he uncovered about Dragovich, Mason would always turn up, one way or another. Using his numerous sources, Timofeyenko delved deeper into Mason's backstory. He learned that Mason had been born in Fairbanks, Alaska in 1932, and was a veteran of the Korean and Vietnam Wars; but a deeper look revealed that that was not all of the conflicts that he had been involved in. Mason was apparently involved in a lot of black ops for the United States, including the infamous Operation 40, the operation to assassinate Fidel Castro during the ill-fated Bay of Pigs Invasion. Unfortunately, the op failed, and Mason was captured by Dragovich himself and sent to the gulag in Vorkuta. He managed to escape from the gulag during its 1963 riots with the help of fellow political prisoner Viktor Reznov, and he made it back to friendly lines safely.

Things took a more sinister turn after his escape. American special forces were claimed to be responsible for the failure of the first Soyuz Two mission, and one of the faces of the supposed attackers was an almost perfect match to Mason's face. Dragovich had been present at the Baikonur Cosmodrome at the time of the attacks, and one of his personal vehicles was reportedly attacked by the armored vehicle that the attackers used to escape the cosmodrome.

Mason and Dragovich met in Laos once again, when American agents tried to investigate the crash site of a downed Soviet cargo plane that was carrying stocks of Nova-Six. This time, it was Mason who came close to death, after the Viet Cong interrogators to whom he had been entrusted to by Dragovich began torturing him. Only an unnatural amount of luck had allowed him to get out of Laos alive.

The final piece of Timofeyenko's puzzle fell when he discovered that Mason was part of the US Navy task force that converged on an old Soviet tramp freighter just outside Cuban territorial waters. Dragovich disappeared at about the same time that the fleet sunk the freighter, and a few days later, Cuban authorities discovered the body of a man with an uncanny resemblance to the Soviet general beached at the southern part of the country. An autopsy conducted by the state's medical institute revealed that the man had been choked to death, not drowned as previously thought. A mysterious woman known only as "Elena" claimed that the body was her father's, and she had it buried at an undisclosed location. The Cubans agreed to look the other way when she paid them $10,000 in cash.

For a time between 1978 and 1982, Mason dropped off the scope completely, before resurfacing for a brief period in 1986. Records revealed that he had a wife, Rosemary, who died when Mason supposedly returned to the CIA after being "retired" from the agency. They had two sons, US Navy Captain David Mason and US Army Major Joseph Mason—Joe to his friends and associates. David's whereabouts were currently unknown, even to Timofeyenko and his world-spanning intelligence network, but Joseph moved to the small town of Lake Monroe, Louisiana with his daughter Alexandra Josephine Mason, who preferred to be called Carter. Strangely, he could find no information about Major Mason's wife, but he did find out that a Claudia P. Mason had been killed in the bombing of the US embassy in Nairobi in 1997. A closer look on Major Mason's records showed that one Claudia Perry was listed as an associate in his files, so there was probably a good chance that this Claudia Perry was Major Mason's wife and Carter Mason's mother in all but name.

Major Joe Mason had served in the First Gulf War and the War in Afghanistan, before being recruited by the mysterious organization known only as the "Princess Protection Program".

During the rehearsal of then-Princess Rosalinda's coronation ceremony, Mason had been disguised as a member of the princess's personal protection detail when Kane made his grand entrance and usurped the throne. Mason singlehandedly rescued the princess and lodged her in his house in Louisiana, where she tried to establish a friendship with his daughter. At first, they rubbed each other the wrong way because of personality clashes, but as time went on; they became the best of friends. This Carter Mason was the one that masterminded the plot to bring Kane down, and that plan went off beautifully, much like Timofeyenko's bombing of Domodedovo Airport in Moscow back in 2011. It was almost embarrassing on Kane's part, being captured by a sixteen-year-old girl. To add insult to injury, both the Major and his daughter were given honorary Costa Lunan citizenship, honorary commissions in the Royal Costa Luna Armed Forces, and awarded the Order of Santa Corazon, the highest honor in the kingdom.

Kane was right not to trust the Masons, Timofeyenko thought. They always seemed to interfere in his family's affairs. It wasn't a funny matter, but there was a comedic quality to it that he just found amusing. And then he came to a sudden and unexpected realization while thinking about it. No wonder the two PPP agents that had been botching up his operations seemed so familiar. They were Carter Mason and Rosalinda Fiore.

"_Yob' tvoyu mat!_" he exclaimed.

"Excuse me?" Kane didn't speak Russian, but he knew enough words to guess the context of what Timofeyenko had just said.

"I've just discovered something of great importance to all of us, my friend," Lavrenty told Kane. "Don't worry, Juan; you'll be out of this place sooner than you think. Much sooner. Just hold on tight. We _will_ get you out."

As the boat that Timofeyenko had rented to get him to Isla de los Penitentes moved away from the island's only dock, he happened to glance up at the sky. An Avialuna 747 was lining up with the runway of Santa Corazon-Alberto Monteaguiluz International Airport, and it passed over the island prison as it prepared to land. He knew that the Costa Lunan delegation to the newly independent Chechen Republic was due to come home on this day, and that the newly-crowned queen of Costa Luna was with that delegation. Lavrenty wished that he had a surface-to-air missile with him, even just a cheap SA-7. It would be child's play to shoot that big lumbering aircraft out of the sky and kill everyone on board. But he quickly cast that thought aside. He had become what he was by being contemplative, not bloodthirsty.


	3. Royal Welcome

**Chapter Three: Royal Welcome**

_Alberto Monteaguiluz International Airport  
__Santa Corazon, Costa Luna  
__18 September 2013  
1655 Costa Luna time_

"_Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. If you look to your left, you will see the Isla de los Penitentes Royal Penitentiary, Costa Luna's most secure prison, where a single escape has not been attempted since its establishment in the year 1890…._"

Carter Mason, who had a window seat in the first-class upper deck of the Royal Costa Luna Aviation Company (Avialuna) Boeing 747, stared out at the imposing fortress on the solitary island in the middle of Santa Corazon Bay. It looked very isolated from the world from up in the sky, and the only way in or out of the penitentiary was a single heavily guarded dock that no one with half a brain—no, someone with half a neuron—would dare attack. The once-feared Magnus Kane was now incarcerated somewhere within that stone-and-steel fortress, she remembered, and she was glad that she had played a very crucial part in bringing him down and behind bars, and giving her best friend her country back to her.

She leaned back on her seat, and saw Rosie looking at a medal. It was given to her by the now-former president Dazdrapertrak Tarenin in recognition for her invaluable services to restoring freedom and democracy to the newborn Chechen Republic. Carter had been presented a similar medal, but she had opted to keep hers in her luggage. They had received them a few days after the raid that had killed Zimyat Kodudov, which resulted in a swift conclusion to the Transcaucasian War. The medals were called the Order of the Caucasus, and Tarenin had thought that all of those who participated in the raid were deserving of the order.

"So," Carter asked, "do you think Tarenin suspects that Senior Supervisory Agent Rosie Gonzalez of the Princess Protection Program is the same person as Queen Rosalinda I of Costa Luna?" They had both seen the look of recognition on his face when a delegation from Costa Luna had materialized out of nowhere, and that the Queen herself was able to attend the occasion.

"Tarenin is a smart man, Carter," Rosie replied. "If he had not yet seen the connection before, then he surely has seen it by now."

Carter had to snicker at the thought. It wasn't everyday that a queen personally helped other people reclaim their countries from unjustly selected or undemocratic leaders.

The FASTEN SEATBELTS sign went on, and Rosie returned the medal to its felt-covered case, which she then put in her baggage. The 747 circled the airport once and then landed minutes later, and it immediately taxied to a part of the tarmac where a small throng of people were standing, as well as a red carpet. Gaudily dressed soldiers of the House of Fiore's personal guard lined both edges of the red carpet, and excited and slightly nervous government officials, as well as the ubiquitous journalists waited at the other end. While the passengers waited for the mobile stairs to reach the door, Carter could hear the Royal Guards' commander barking out commands to his troops.

"_Agap… ta!_"

Queen Rosalinda I of Costa Luna stepped out of the plane and into the bright tropical sunshine. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress, a purple shawl draped over her shoulders, and a wide-brimmed _sombrero_, which made her look like the perfect combination of the old and new Costa Luna. The press loved it. She saluted the honor guard, and as she passed the last pair of soldiers, the commander shouted, "_Magbigay-pugay sa Reyna!_"

"_Mabuhay ang Reyna ng Costa Luna!_" the honor guard shouted. "_Pinuno ng Ating Bayan, Tagapangalaga ng Ating Pananampalataya, at Tagabantay ng Sambayanan!_"

Carter had to admire their dedication for their queen. Here, Rosie was treated like a goddess, the personification of their nation, unlike back in Lake Monroe, where the people saw her as just another teenage girl. That was another thing Carter liked about Rosie: she didn't let the fame get to her head. She had tasted both the lives of a royal and a commoner, and she learned from her lessons and knew that her position as monarch could easily be gone by tomorrow.

The politicians bowed and curtsied as Rosie passed them, and at the end of the carpet, she was met by a tall, dignified-looking man. He was Juan Andres Victor Valderama y Sotto, the Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Costa Luna. He bowed deeply and kissed the ring on the Queen's right hand. "Your Royal Majesty," he said.

"_Ginoong_ Prime Minister." Rosie nodded her head. She then made her way towards a group of black limousines and boarded the largest one. It peeled out of the tarmac immediately, followed by a cluster of similar vehicles and the press mob.

Carter could only shake her head and sigh. She was the Queen's personal confidant here in Costa Luna, but that didn't mean anything to the press, which was just fine for her. She didn't like more press attention than necessary. She picked up her luggage and was about to board her own official car when she heard a very familiar voice.

"Hey, how's my little princess doing?"

Carter turned and smiled when she recognized Edwin Baines and his handheld video camera. Ed was one of Carter's few friends in Lake Monroe, and he was, as he liked to call himself, "a film enthusiast." He liked everything about films and filming, and he liked it so much that it was a very rare moment that he was seen without his camera.

Ed tried to walk to Carter, but his path was blocked by a Royal Secret Service agent. "No media allowed beyond this point," he said in Tagalog.

Carter walked to the agent and said in Tagalog, "He is not media. He's a friend of mine."

"Are you sure, _Binibining_ Mason?"

"_Oo_, Lorenzo, I'm sure. Let him in."

"_Opo_, _Binibining_ Mason." The agent stepped aside to let Ed through. "That was amazing, Carter," he said. "What did you tell that guy?"

"Oh, nothing; just that you're a friend of mine."

"Really? That's awesome!"

They climbed into Carter's official car, a black Ford Crown Victoria. As the driver eased into the streets of Santa Corazon, Ed asked Carter, "So, how did you learn Tagalog so fast?"

"Oh, I had a little help from a queen that we both know." That brought back fond memories of Rosie's carefully planned, and sometimes harsh, tutoring, who kept stressing to Carter that it was very important that her being a foreigner was not made known to the Costa Lunan public, lest they think that she was whispering malicious and non-beneficial information into the Queen's ear. But when she had the time, Rosie taught Carter a few choice Tagalog swear words, and they would both share a laugh whenever they thought back to that time.

"How about you, Ed?" Carter asked. "How's the film academy treating you?"

"Pretty well, actually," he replied, "considering that I'm a foreigner, and that there had been recent episodes of xenophobia in the country. Good thing I had Rosetta when my former language tutor decided to abandon me after someone threatened to hurt her for 'fraternizing with a foreigner.'"

"Don't worry about it, Ed. This xenophobia of theirs is just a very recent phenomenon. I believe; no, scratch that; I _know_ that the Costa Lunans are a good, kindhearted people. It's just that their civil war is still fresh in their minds." The Costa Luna Civil War, caused by Magnus Kane's usurpation of Rosie's throne, had cost the nation twenty-two thousand people, most of them killed by Kane's own hand. Because Kane was from Costa Estrella, an autonomous region and formerly independent country whose people was as foreign to Costa Lunans as men from Mars, many _Luneros_ had developed a fear of people "not from the Kingdom," and it was about to reach the point where it may become detrimental to Costa Luna's reintegration to the globalized world.

"Yeah," Ed agreed. "This place must have looked like hell back then." And although most of the scars had healed, there were still a few constant reminders of the civil war scattered throughout the centuries-old city. The site of the Morales-Menezes Building, an eighteen-storey apartment building that collapsed after suffering repeated artillery strikes and took with it all six hundred and thirty-six soldiers garrisoned there, was now occupied by a park surrounding a marble obelisk whose sides were carved with the names of each and every victim of the disaster. Many more memorials to the war, too many for a definitive list, were scattered throughout Santa Corazon.

As Ed leaned back on his seat to enjoy the ride and the sights, Carter asked, "What brings you to the airport, Ed?"

"Just a little school project depicting the seething mass of humanity that is an airport," he replied. "Although I'm not really sure how to translate that into Tagalog." Despite his nerdish looks, Ed wasn't all that great with languages, but he still managed to get Bs and A-minuses at the predominantly-Tagalog Simeon Cancarotte Film Academy.

The car descended into the massive underground parking lot of the Emerald Palace, so named for the many emerald centerpieces in the castle that supposedly came from the private collection of Queen Esmeralda, Costa Luna's first queen. The basement parking lots themselves had once been the royal stables, before automobiles became the preferred mode of transport throughout the country. It had two levels: the upper level held the security vehicles of the palace guards, while the lower one housed the various diplomatic vehicles of the Queen and her cabinet. As personal confidant, Carter's car held the parking spot to the left of the Queen's limousine. The parking spot to the right was reserved for the Prime Minister.

Two Secret Service agents greeted Carter as she got off the car and headed for the executive elevator. She and Ed were both searched thoroughly before they were allowed onboard, and they seemed particularly interested in Ed's camera. _As if it would fire a bullet when Ed points it at Rosie_, Carter sneered in her mind.

The elevator was swift, and they quickly arrived at the "executive floor," so called because it was where the Queen conducted her official duties. Carter steered Ed to her own office, which had the label _Queen's Confidant_ in English, Spanish, and Tagalog. Ed's jaw literally dropped when he entered the office. Emeralds, among other precious stones, were present on almost every available surface except the floor, and the gold-leaved tops of the exquisite marble columns added a cheerful air to the place. He finally found his tongue after a few tries. "Wow, Carter!" he exclaimed. "This place is your personal office? So neat!"

"It's better than that government-furnished apartment you have, huh?" Carter teased.

"Definitely! I mean, my apartment isn't even in the same class as this place! I mean, let's face it, my apartment looks like a doggone dump compared to this!"

"That's nothing, Ed. You should see my bedroom. With a gilded-frame bed with satin sheets of the color of your choice, with emeralds, rubies, and amber shining down on you from the ceiling, what else could I ask for?"

"Whoa! Very nice! Hey!" Ed's face lit up, just like it always did when he had a brilliant idea. "I wonder if I can stay here. I mean, not here, in your office or your bedroom, but in one of the other rooms in this place. This castle's got to have lots and lots of rooms!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Ed," Carter told him. "A lot of areas in the Palace have not been in use for hundreds of years, so who knows what's happened to them? Wait a minute, though. I think there's one place where you can stay. Sure, it will take the cutting of a lot of red tape, but then that really doesn't matter, does it?"

"Really? You can do that? What was that you said, 'cut through a lot of red tape'?"

"Of course. Being the Queen's confidant gives me a lot more power here. A lot more power than in Lake Monroe, I can tell you that much."

"Oh, and can I get to talk to Rosie again? It's been a long time since we've last talked."

"She's got a lot of meetings in her schedule right now and for the next week, but maybe I can find a way to squeeze you in there."

"Thanks, Carter."

"Don't mention it, Ed."


	4. A Nuclear Dilemma

**Chapter Four: A Nuclear Dilemma**

_The Emerald Palace  
__Santa Corazon, Costa Luna  
__20 September 2013  
__1630 Costa Luna time_

Whoever thought that the life of a queen was easy must be insane, thought Rosie as she prepared herself for another meeting with her ministers, the second in only so many scheduled for today. She had already made the customary television appearances, as well as a speech on why Parliament should approve the recognition of the nascent Chechen Republic. And she'd had only fifteen minutes of rest from that before she had to prepare herself for this meeting.

This one was about the three tons of nuclear material that Magnus Kane had acquired from the black market and smuggled into Costa Luna during his brief rule. While some of that material had eventually become fuel for Costa Luna's three operating nuclear power plants, most were "weapons-grade" and therefore unfit for use as reactor fuel. To talk to her about this was the Prime Minister and the Minister of Defense. The Queen's confidant sat some distance away from the group, a silent witness to the meeting. The Minister of Defense, a former general of the army and a close friend and associate of Rosie's grandfather King Gonzalez IX, had never been pleased with the confidant's presence during such meetings of "high national importance," and his displeasure had risen even higher now that she had someone else that was obviously not part of the Palace staff in the room with her. Only really trustworthy people should be allowed in such meetings, he thought, but if the Queen trusted her confidant, then that was obviously enough for the Secret Service. Still, there was something in that Carter Mason that ticked him off, and he always had kept an eye on her. Maybe it was her nationality; she was obviously not a _Lunera_ or an _Estrellana_. Or maybe that it was the way that she addressed the Queen, like she was an old friend of hers or something.

_Or maybe you're just getting paranoid in your old age_, he scolded himself. Now was not the time for prejudice. He had more important matters to discuss with the Queen.

"Your Majesty," the Prime Minister began, "just before you left Groznyy in Chechnya, I was approached by the Russian ambassador, who offered to purchase the Estrellan nuclear materials at market price plus ten percent, so that they can analyze it and determine where it came from. A few hours after calling on me, representatives of the International Atomic Energy Agency reminded me that our great and glorious nation Costa Luna has only a week left to turn over the nuclear material before they classify us as a rogue nuclear state. Now we all know that North Korea is the only nation that holds this dubious distinction, and I would not allow our beloved Costa Luna to follow the footsteps of that poor excuse of a nation-state. As a responsible member of the international community, we should turn over these illegally acquired nuclear materials to the IAEA, but then what will we tell the Russians? Despite our two countries' vastly different forms of government, we have become unlikely friends, who support each other mutually in the economic and military fields. We have once accepted their help in some of our… more delicate internal affairs, as they have accepted our help in some of their more delicate internal affairs."

"What did you tell the Russian ambassador?" Rosie asked the Prime Minister.

"I told him that I would present his country's offer to you, that we would think about it very carefully, and that I would get back to him as soon as you have made your decision."

"Well, then, the answer is a little bit obvious, isn't it? We must follow the IAEA's orders and turn over to them the nuclear materials that we—excuse me, Magnus Kane-has acquired illegally from the black market, but we will tell them that a small percentage of the material had been used as fuel for our nuclear power plants in the hopes that we can make use of something we have inherited from one of our country's darkest periods. Of course, our records will reveal that this small percentage was successfully converted for use as reactor fuel, but they will not show that we have sold the Russians some of this material for analysis. The IAEA can do it too, but the Russians have generally proved quicker in providing the results.

"That was quick. May I ask the Defense Minister why his presence is required for that meeting?"

"Your Majesty," the Defense Minister replied, "at the same time that the Prime Minister was approached by the Russian ambassador, one of their military attaches paid me a visit and made me a similar offer. However, his offer had a few differences from the one placed on the Prime Minister." The Queen waved her hand, telling the Defense Minister to continue. "They offered to purchase the nuclear materials, but not so they could analyze it, but so they could machine it into something useful and sell it back to us."

"Nothing seems to be wrong with that offer," Rosie said. "Why haven't you told me of this before? Our nuclear power plants could certainly use a little more fuel."

"That's the problem, your Majesty," the Defense Minister replied. "They don't plan to give us usable reactor fuel. They plan to give us nuclear bombs!"

Everyone's heads turned at the mention of bombs. Even the man with the confidant, who obviously couldn't keep track of their rapid-fire Tagalog to begin with, recognized the word _bomba atomika_ when he heard it. The Prime Minister's face expressed extreme shock, but the Queen's only showed her piqued interest, but the minister could feel a negative energy slowly building up around her.

"Did I hear you correctly, Anibal?" asked the Prime Minister. "The Russians plan to sell _us_ nuclear bombs? What do they think of us, a rogue state that needs to flex its military might at every chance we get?"

"I think the Russian ambassador does not know about this other offer, Andres."

"Are they not aware that Costa Luna is a signatory of the Caribbean Nuclear Weapons-Free Zone Treaty?" the PM ranted on, not hearing or not caring about the Defense Minister's reply. "I was assured that everyone in their diplomatic staff have been made aware of this fact!"

"Do calm down, Andres," Anibal Perez Suarez, the Defense Minister, finally managed to say. "I did not accept their offer. I told that attaché that we are a member of the CNWFZ, and that if they were really determined to get this damned nuclear material out of our hands, then they could at least retool it into reactor fuel instead of bombs. It's just like that old saying, 'Let us turn swords into plowshares,' isn't it?"

"Gentlemen, if you may allow me to speak," asked the Queen. Valderama and Suarez piped down, and she quickly took the initiative. "Fifty years ago, my grandfather, King Gonzalez IX, may he rest in peace, was a witness to one of the moments where the world came closest to destroying itself. Our Cuban neighbors up north allowed their Soviet masters to erect nuclear missiles that could directly threaten both our beloved Costa Luna and the United States within their borders. During that time, he had an epiphany: truly civilized nations do not do battle with such infernal weapons. Through his efforts, he helped make the Caribbean a nuclear weapons-free zone, and unilaterally banned such weapons in the militaries of all the Caribbean nations. My father, King Mauricio III, may he rest in peace with all the angels and saints in heaven, helped the newly-liberated Costa Gravans to surrender their illegally made and acquired nuclear bombs to the IAEA in the last years of his short but fully lived life. Costa Luna led the Caribbean in expelling nuclear weapons from our shores, and in exchange we have harnessed the atom for its true purpose: providing us with clean and useful energy. We are even helping other countries build their own nuclear power plants.

"Only once did our nation have nuclear weapons on its soil, and that was during Magnus Kane's bloody, unlawful, and thankfully brief rule. These weapons are the materials that we are talking about right now, am I right? We are supposed to get rid of them, and then I hear that our friends the Russians want to turn them into bombs? They may be our friends, but friends do not offer to turn a man's trash into something worse than trash. Ministers, if you get the chance, can you tell the Russians that they can look somewhere else if they want buyers for their nuclear weapons. Costa Luna will _not _allow any nuclear weapons to remain on her soil for as much as a single second."

"Yes, your Majesty," both ministers replied.

"Although, if they still want to analyze these materials for us, then I see no harm in accepting their offer," the Queen continued. "If they try to sell us bombs once again, tell them they can give it to Bellinsgauzenia. I hear they are interested in increasing their stockpile."


	5. Underworld

**Chapter Five: Underworld**

_Ignacio, Costa Luna  
__20 September 2013  
2015 Costa Luna time_

The dark streets of the suburban slums of Ignacio were filled with all kinds of filth: garbage, excrements both animal and human, and roadkill. Nobody in their right minds would stay in the area longer than what was absolutely necessary, but there were people who came to Ignacio because what they needed was there. Ignacio had become the drug dealers' backdoor into Costa Luna, with dealers selling everything from cocaine to marijuana to LSD to Ecstasy. And it was all possible thanks to Santiago San Antonio and the Army of Socialist Revolution.

One of those aforementioned dealers stood at the intersection of Avenida de Reino Juan I and Via Duque Hidalgo de Pasquin. Because even the Royal Metropolitan Police did not patrol the area, he had all of his "merchandise" in his pockets, but because of the lack of police presence, shootings were a very common thing in Ignacio. That was why he carried a Beretta semiautomatic pistol to protect his "turf" from any young upstarts who thought that they could just barge into the city and grab a slice of this very lucrative pie.

A man dressed in a very long black raincoat walked up to the dealer. "I want to speak to Don Quixote," he said in Spanish.

"Don't know anyone by that name," the dealer replied. "Unless you're talking about the character created by Cervantes."

"The password is _cogito, ergo sum_."

"Take a right turn on the Via Duque and then turn left on Avenida Dos. There'll be a man there who can take you to the don."

"_Gracias, amigo_," the man said before walking away, following the directions that the dealer had given him. He found another dealer waiting for him, just as the first one had told him. This dealer led him to a rundown building that used to be a bank but had now become a slum in a city full of slums. Many lowlifes were scattered along the dilapidated hallways, casting a dubious glare at the new foreigner in their midst. The man was already used to such stares, and he paid little attention to the building's denizens. Once they reached the fourth floor, however, the lowlifes had been replaced by guards, armed with everything from homemade popguns to real pistols and assault rifles. There was a scattering of what looked like prostitutes among the guards, but for all the man knew, they could handle a Kalashnikov as well as the best of Russia's Spetsnaz.

They finally stopped in front of a pair of moldy oak doors. The hinges were almost rusted off, and the doorknobs were gone, probably stolen by opportunistic looters when the building was condemned. The dealer that had led the man here knocked on the door three times, and a voice from inside shouted, "Come!" The dealer pushed the door open, and he motioned for the foreigner to come inside.

Santiago San Antonio usually defied people's impressions about him. They usually saw him as this more-or-less charming officer who was just as dashing as Magnus Kane, most probably because that was what he looked like in the only known photo of him. It had been taken back when he was still a young, idealistic, wet-behind-his-ears captain of the Royal Costa Luna Army; before he had learned the "truth" about the "debauchery" of the House of Fiore while Costa Luna was still engaged in war with neighboring Costa Estrella. San Antonio was toned and clean-cut in his picture, which was a very far cry from the long-haired fat slob that Lavrenty Timofeyenko now beheld. Years of jungle diets had been rendered moot once he developed a taste for Western fast food, the only readily accessible foodstuffs in Ignacio, and he had become as fat as a sausage filled to the limit with ground meat, but the same patriotic fervor in the photo still burned in his eyes. The man still has conviction, Timofeyenko thought as he took a seat in front of the so-called "Acting Leader" of the Army of Socialist Revolution.

"Who are you and how did you find us?" He was obviously not expecting Timofeyenko's presence in his headquarters.

"Let's just say that I am a friend of your former leader," he replied.

"Magnus Kane is still very much our leader," San Antonio shot back. "I am merely serving in an interim capacity until he gets out of prison. And that doesn't answer my second question: how did you find us?"

"I have eyes and ears all over the world, Mr. San Antonio, most often in the right places." The sudden hardening of Timofeyenko's tone made it clear who was now running the show. San Antonio closed his mouth and remained silent for a few seconds. Finally, he looked at Timofeyenko and said, "I bet you're thinking that we're not even fit to be called a revolutionary movement now that we're selling drugs just to keep ourselves afloat."

"Not to worry, General," Timofeyenko replied, deliberately using San Antonio's rank within the movement to return some pride to his wounded ego. "Every movement must make use of what is available to acquire money for weapons and training."

"What are you here for, _señor_?" San Antonio asked both out of curiosity and habit. Nobody ever came to Don Quixote just to make idle chitchat.

"I have a business proposition for you, General," Timofeyenko replied. "In exchange for helping us break Marshal Kane out of prison, I offer you the full services of my organization. Anything you want from us, we will provide you. If you need ammunition, weapons, bombs, or even fellow soldiers, we will be very happy to give you what you need. I won't ask you to sign a piece of paper or some other bullshit that only diplomats do. I won't even ask for a percentage of your profits in your drug trade. All I need is your word that you will give your utmost cooperation, and the cooperation of the Army of Socialist Revolution, in supporting my plan to get Marshal Kane out of prison. So, what do you say, partner?" Timofeyenko threw that last word in at the last second, to give San Antonio a feeling of friendship and camaraderie, and he held out an expectant hand.

San Antonio leaned back on his chair and considered his options. The Army of Socialist Revolution, which had once numbered in the tens of thousands, was now just composed of at most five hundred troops. And despite his strict policy of not testing their "merchandise," some of the younger fools still tried the drugs anyway and became addicted to them as a result, reducing the number of capable fighters under his command even more. And with their primary jungle armory now in the hands of the monarchists, there was now no way for him to even contemplate about trying to get Marshal Kane out of prison. But this foreigner had given him a very interesting offer; it was, quite literally, an offer he couldn't refuse. But there was no way of knowing the quality of the foreigner's soldiers unless they came here themselves to show him. He would just have to find out the hard way.

"You make a very interesting offer, foreigner," he said. "It is, for all intents and purposes, an offer I cannot refuse. Very well, then!" San Antonio took Timofeyenko's outstretched hand and shook it hard while looking the foreigner in the eye. "I will agree to your terms, all of them, but only under two conditions: first, I want to see the best of your soldiers in action here on my native soil; and second, I will lead Marshal Kane's breakout."

"I accept your terms, General San Antonio," Timofeyenko replied, looking the rebel leader right back in the eyes. He had no intention of leading Kane's breakout himself, anyway. "I will bring my best soldiers here to train your troops. You will find that they have vastly superior training, and that they will be ready to train your men as soon as you want them to."

"That is fair enough."

* * *

A/N: So that's it, guys. The baddies are planning to break Magnus Kane out of Costa Luna's most secure prison. Will Carter and Rosie be able to stop them? Find out in the next chapter! Once again, read and review! :-D - GR


	6. The Escape of Magnus Kane

**Chapter Six: The Escape of Magnus Kane**

_Isla de los Penitentes Royal Penitentiary  
__Isla de los Penitentes, Santa Corazon, Costa Luna  
__23 September 2013  
2345 Costa Luna time_

Night had fallen over Isla de los Penitentes. The tourists visiting the old prison complex—now converted into a museum—were gone, as well as the visitors to the inmates in the new prison, which suited Santiago San Antonio just fine. This was a purely military operation for him—if it could be done without taking a single civilian life, then he would do it. The men that the mysterious foreigner had sent over to Costa Luna as part of their deal really were better-trained than the best of the best of his troops, and he had used the time spent preparing for the mission to bring his soldiers up to the playing level of the foreign mercenaries.

Four of the foreigner's men were with him now. He pegged them down as Russian, Chechen, and possibly either Liberian or Somali. He also had the ASR's demolitions expert with him, a man who was a close friend of Magnus Kane. They were all riding a large-capacity speedboat that used to be a drug-runner before San Antonio had "forcibly acquired" it from its owners, and it went for Isla de los Penitentes' only pier at a respectable forty knots.

The two guards on the pier saw the speedboat and prepared to receive it. One of them caught the lines thrown by one of the Russian mercenaries and tied it around a thick wooden pole. The other guard, who appeared to be the senior member of the detail, approached the boat and said to San Antonio, "Visitation hours are over, _amigo_. Or do you have a problem with your boat?"

"Oh, there's no problem with my boat, kind sir; I'm just here to pick up and old friend of mine." Before San Antonio's reply had registered into the guards' brains, he had already blown out their brains with a suppressed pistol. As the bodies crumpled on the pier, he turned to the demo expert and said, "Plant the bombs underneath the pier. Get some of the foreigners to help you with the bombs and the bodies. You two, come with me," he commanded the two Russians.

There were many cameras monitoring the pier, and the three guards watching them became suspicious when the speedboat docked so late at night. Their worst fears were confirmed when their colleagues' heads were callously blown away by one of the men from the speedboat. They raised the general alarm and took their rifles to fend off the invaders, but before they could fire a single shot, San Antonio and his Russian cronies had already gunned them down. One of the Russians also threw a grenade into the guard station just to make sure there weren't any others still inside.

Guided by memory, San Antonio walked resolutely towards the solitary confinement row, shooting the occasional guard foolish enough to cross his path. He reached the long, narrow, cell-lined hallway quickly, and he shot the lone guard on duty inside. Santiago took the keyring from the guard's belt, wiped off the blood that had dripped down there, and unlocked the heavy steel door at the end of the hallway, where his ultimate objective lay. "Marshal Kane," he said into the cell, "your ride awaits."

The other inmates in solitary confinement cheered when they saw Magnus Kane stride out of his cell. Some of them even shouted "Take me with you, Marshal Kane!" but he paid them no attention. Instead, he walked over to San Antonio and immediately asking, "Where and how did you get the resources you needed to get me out of here?"

"There was this man, a foreigner," San Antonio replied. "He came to me with an offer. In exchange for his support of our cause, he will provide us the weapons and men to get you out of this place."

"This man, what did he look like?"

"He's a foreigner, Johnny. Tall, pale, gray eyes, gray hair; he spoke with a gruff voice. Why? Does he sound familiar to you?"

"Ah, yes. That was my good friend Andrew you just described back there. You were wise to accept his offer. He was our supplier during the mess that is _Dos Mil Nueve_."

"Please don't talk to me about _Dos Mil Nueve_ again, Johnny."

"I tell you, Tiago, not even the monarchists like to remember _Dos Mil Nueve_, even though they humiliated our armies with my capture."

Kane and San Antonio walked into Sorority Row, the local nickname for the female prisoner cellblock. When they saw Kane walking free, they clamored for even just a touch of him. Some even bared their breasts at him, jumping up and down to elicit some kind of response from him, but Kane didn't even glance at them. "What has happened to our beloved _Ejercito_, Tiago?" he asked San Antonio as they walked down Sorority Row.

"We are now making a living selling drugs, Marshal," San Antonio replied. "And half of our profits go to our Cuban suppliers, who use it as protection from Castro and his cronies."

"Socialists selling drugs made by socialists protected from socialists by other socialists," Kane muttered, shaking his head. "What is this world coming to? Anyway, Tiago, how are the men? Have they been trained well?"

"They are training in our jungle camps as we speak," San Antonio replied. "Andrew's men are instructing them in the proper use of their rifles, and proper firing techniques. From what I can see, we will soon have the potential to become a formidable fighting force once again." He looked around his surroundings, no longer recognizing where they were. "What is this place, Johnny?" he asked.

"Just a little something that I like to call the control room."

This "control center" was where the guards could open or close the cell doors at will. Normally, there would be at least three guards manning the center, but all of them were on the ground with bullet wounds on their bodies; victims of San Antonio's Russians. Kane grabbed the PA microphone on the desk of one of the guards, and said, "_Damas y caballeros_, this is Marshal Magnus Kane of the Army of Socialist Revolution, and I give you… your freedom!" He pushed a large red button marked MASTER OVERRIDE in English, Spanish, and Tagalog, and almost immediately every cell door in Isla de los Penitentes Royal Penitentiary opened. The inmates cheered as they ran out of their cells, shouting at their newfound freedom.

"May I borrow a pistol please, comrades?" San Antonio handed over his suppressed pistol to Kane, who fired five rounds into the cell door control mechanism. "That ought to slow them down," he muttered to no one in particular. "Now, let us get out of here!"

The control panel, already mangled by Kane's five bullets, was totally destroyed by a fragmentation grenade that one of the Russians had tossed in to make sure the job was done.

When the four men finally reached the speedboat, the ASR's demo expert was waiting for them at the edge of the pier. Kane walked up to him and wrapped him in a bear hug. "It is good to see you again, Dimitri, _mi amigo_," he said.

"And I you, Juan Marcos," replied Dimitri Caballero y Uribe, addressing Kane by his Christian birth name. "Shall we now get out of this dump?"

"A most splendid idea, Dimitri."

When the speedboat was finally far away from the island, Dimitri triggered a set of explosives—real explosives—that he had stuffed underneath the support columns of the pier. The hundred-year-old wooden chair barely stood a chance against the C4 explosive, and the only means of getting onto Isla de los Penitentes had been destroyed by the blast. It was a very explosive end of what would soon be called the Isla de los Penitentes Riots.


	7. Consequences

**Chapter Seven: Consequences**

_The Emerald Palace  
__Santa Corazon, Costa Luna  
__24 September 2013  
__1245 hours Costa Luna time_

"…_At least eight guards were killed by the unknown assailants that attacked Isla de los Penitentes Penitentiary last night, and four more were brutally beaten by inmates that managed to escape their cells in the confusion following the attack. The Royal Metropolitan Police, after three hours of intense fighting, finally managed to contain the rioting inmates, but not before seventeen prisoners had been killed. It appears that the main objective of the attack was to free Juan Marcos Domingo Estrada, also known as Magnus Kane. Apparently, they succeeded, as Kane was not accounted for after the police managed to secure the penitentiary. After freeing Kane, the attackers blew up the only port on the island, delaying the police response to the situation in the penitentiary_..."

Prime Minister Juan Andres Lucas Victor Valderama y Sotto of the Kingdom of Costa Luna turned off the television in the Queen's office. He had briefed the Queen on last night's events as soon as he himself had assembled the most important facts. Truth be told, however, he only knew as much as the rest of Costa Luna knew, which was admittedly not much. "Now, you must understand why I had to send the Metropolitan to Penitentes, your Majesty," he said. "In fact, if the Met had not managed to contain the situation in the island, I would have been forced to call on the Santa Corazon Royal National Guard. And you know how people would react if I did that." He turned on the television again and switched the channel to a popular talk show program. Two of the frontrunners for the upcoming Prime Minister's elections were on the show.

"Regarding Prime Minister Valderama's decision to send the Royal Metropolitan Police to Isla de los Penitentes, is his decision tactically sound or politically motivated?" the host asked the audience and the viewers. "Mr. Lobo, would you like to answer?"

Alvarado Lobo, a balding fifty-year old man with a vague hint of Germanic features on his face, and the electoral representative of the Republican Party of Costa Luna, spoke with quiet confidence. "Valderama's decision was obviously politically motivated," he said. "With the parliamentary elections around the corner, and Valderama seeking a second term—which, I must say, is an impossibility if he wants to run on behalf of his coalition—he must return to his image of a strong and resolute leader, one who shows that he is not afraid of whatever the fates may throw at him. He must project strength, and the Isla de los Penitentes Riots is a perfect way to show his resolve and fearlessness."

"Mr. Trotshev, would you like to express your own opinion?"

Nicolas Trotshev, the thirty-nine year-old son of second-generation Russian immigrants and candidate of the Coalition of Minor Parties of Costa Luna, sat up in his seat, scratched his nose, and cleared his throat before saying, "Consider the numbers first, Alvarado. There were twenty guards left in the penitentiary after Kane had escaped. They were all armed with pistols, nightsticks, riot gear, and a single assault rifle! A single assault rifle for the twenty of them! How can they hope to fight back over nine hundred prisoners who have armed themselves with any and every weapon that they could make with what they have? Despite what the movies would like you to think, people who face impossible odds don't always come out on top. The prisoners would have surely killed all of the guards had the Met not intervened in time. Prime Minister Valderama was well within his rights to send the Royal Metropolitan Police."

That set off a lengthy tirade from Lobo, which in turn was answered by an equally long tirade from Trotshev. While the two ministerial candidates debated, the host faced the audience and said, "Unfortunately, we were not able to ask Prime Minister Valderama for his side of the story, but we promise you, dear viewers, that we will get a statement from him as soon as we can!"

Valderama turned off the television again. "Do you see what I mean, your Majesty?" he said. "The Kingdom's public is as divided on the issue as Lobo and Trotshev. Can you imagine what they would have done if I had called the Royal National Guard? They would have called for my head!"

"That is not an important matter, Prime Minister," Queen Rosalinda replied. "What matters is that a potentially devastating incident has been cut at the roots. Have all the other prisoners been accounted for?"

"The head of the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology has just sent me the list of prisoners killed in the riots. So far, the media has got it right; seventeen prisoners have been killed. They're mostly serial killers and other dregs of society; people no one will really miss. As for Kane, we have an all-points bulletin out for him. Even a few regiments of the Royal Army have been reactivated to check the ports, the airports, and the border crossings to Costa Estrella.

"I had a feeling that this would happen sooner or later, your Majesty," Valderama continued. "Despite the Royal Army's best efforts to eradicate them, the Army of Socialist Revolution has proven just too difficult to track down. Now that Magnus Kane is back in their fold, they could be recruiting our youths right under our noses."

"There is nothing more that we can do for that right now," the Queen replied. "All we can hope for is that when the time comes to fight them, we can hold them at bay once again."

Valderama left the Queen's office a few minutes after the meeting. He called over his secretary, who was sitting in the anteroom waiting for him. As he began dictating notes while walking down the hallways of the palace, he noticed two men, one black and one white, walking in the opposite direction, towards the Queen's office. He didn't manage to see the flag on their sleeves, but they were wearing the dress uniforms of the Royal Costa Luna Army, and he did not bother to pursue the matter further.

The two men were not members of the Royal Costa Luna Army, nor had they ever been. They were actually agents of the Princess Protection Program, a multinational agency responsible for the safety and protection of the world's remaining royal families, and their mission was to assist in the defense of the Kingdom of Costa Luna from the forces of the Army of Socialist Revolution. The two walked up to the Queen's secretary. The white one said in fluent Tagalog, "Documents for the Queen," and he and his partner held up the suitcases handcuffed to their wrists. "We are expected."

The secretary looked at the list of the Queen's appointments for the day, then the clock on his desk. "You're just in time," he said. "Prime Minister Valderama has just finished briefing the Queen on the Penitentes Riots." He stood up and escorted the two to the oak doors of the Queen's office.

"…the implications of Kane's escape will surely affect us all—" The Queen and her confidant looked up to the apparently unexpected intrusion. The secretary closed the doors, and the two agents dressed in Army uniforms immediately took the seats in front of the Queen.

"What are you guys doing here?" Carter Mason asked.

"We came over as soon as we heard," Leo Argus replied.

"Kane's escape happened just a few hours ago. How could you have flown all the way from Russia that fast?"

"Actually, we're assigned to the Russian embassy here," Vyacheslav Klimov replied. "Well, I am. Leo here's been detailed to the South African embassy. Anyway, we were actually on the same plane you were on. Avialuna Flight 1258, 747 direct from Groznyy to Santa Corazon."

"We debriefed at the headquarters for three days," Argus added. "And then the Director sent us back in. She sends her regards, by the way. She assumed that you would get back to work immediately after you arrived, so she set up this meeting in advance. It should have only been about the latest developments in the country and the Caribbean, but now that Magnus Kane has escaped, that has taken priority over everything else."

"Our assets alerted us of known and suspected Ultranationalist operatives arriving in Costa Luna by way of the slums of Ignacio." Klimov produced a set of photographs from his case and laid them on the table. "We've managed to identify many of the operatives as Russian and Ukrainian, but we've also seen some Asians, Africans, and even other Europeans too. It appears that they're training and providing arms to the Army of Socialist Revolution, which has apparently set up camp in Ignacio. We assumed that because most of the ASR's current leadership were seen in the vicinity of the town. Here we have Santiago San Antonio, Diego Chavarria, Ephraim Schmidt, Manuel Rosenthal, and Dimitri Caballero, among others, conversing with Ultranationalist operatives inside the former Banco de Reina Isabella IV Building. However, as the day of Kane's escape neared, the ASR's leaders began leaving Ignacio, retreating to whatever secret jungle encampment they have, and despite our best efforts, we haven't found hide nor hair of them. It's very possible that this is where they're holding Kane after they broke him out."

"Wait a minute," Carter said, holding up her hand. "How did the Ultranationalists get mixed up with the ASR in the first place?"

"We think that Ultranationalist involvement with the ASR began in 2008. You might remember that Magnus Kane first began attacking Royal Army convoys the same time as Russia's invasion of Georgia in support of Abkhazia and South Ossetia. Rumors were that he tried to time his coup so that while everyone was busy trying to dislodge him, no one will notice Russian tanks crossing the border with Georgia. Unfortunately, it went the other way around, so Kane was forced to delay the coup until after King Mauricio's death, whom many people still believe was poisoned. No offense, though."

"None taken, Slava," Rosie said.

"Anyway, while we're on the subject of Ultranationalists," Argus interrupted, "there's something I wanted you to see." He took out more photographs from his case and laid those out on the table. "Those are video stills from the CCTV of the Isla de los Penitentes Visitors' Area taken on the day of your arrival. Focus on the table nearest to the camera. Do you recognize the prisoner?"

"Yes," replied Rosie. "That man is Magnus Kane."

"Okay. Now look at the man talking to Kane. Do you recognize him?"

"No, I don't. I'm sorry."

"Wait a minute." Carter grabbed the photo with the clearest view of the man talking to Kane. Suddenly, she was back in that dusty street in Afghanistan where she came very close to dying. She remembered the face of her attacker very clearly, the focus on her face as she moved in for the kill; the surprise on her face as she was shot in the chest by Rosie; and the satisfaction on her face when the cyanide capsule in her tooth claimed her life. Carter remembered the woman's accomplice's face as only half of what it really was, but she was sure that that face belonged to the man talking to Kane on the photograph.

"I know this man," she said. "I saw him back when Rosie and I were in Kabul rooting around for Ultranationalist activity. He and his partner tried to kill me, but he had to escape after Rosie shot the woman attacking me. But I still have no idea why they wanted me dead, though."

"I had a feeling one of you might recognize the guy," Argus said. "I took the liberty of digging deeper on our mystery man. He entered Costa Luna under the name Andrew Mellow, but facial recognition software identified him as Lavrenty Konstantinovich Timofeyenko, who used to be an enforcer for the Russian Mafia before falling in with the Ultranationalists. He left Santa Corazon the same day that he talked to Kane, but we managed to follow him only as far as Malaga before we lost him."

"Okay, so what will this mean for us?" Carter asked. "Costa Luna, I mean. Now that the Army of Socialist Revolution's got the backing of the Ultranationalists, how can we ever stop them from taking over the country?"

"Let us all hope that they will decide not to rise up again," Rosie said. "God knows what will happen to my country if they do."


End file.
